


Compulsive Truth

by HeroMaggie



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anders should watch what he drinks, Compulsions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluffy Ending, Gen, Hawke has an obsession with the blood mage in the sewer, Sometimes Friends are Real Jerks, Talk of Rape, Talk of torture, Truth Potions, Xenon is highly used to Hawke, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 11:55:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4624416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeroMaggie/pseuds/HeroMaggie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt Submission #7 to Fendersapprection on Tumblr:</p><p>Anders OR Fenris (up to you either would be great) finds himself in trouble when he accidentally takes a truth potion. He admits all sorts of things he would never say out loud. Alarmed by this, he avoids the (mage/warrior) that he has harbored a secret crush for. All the bonus points for him making an adorable fool of himself. </p><p>Submitted by Anonymous. Thanks for sending it in!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Compulsive Truth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DashingApostate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DashingApostate/gifts).



> This got longer than I had anticipated...and a little darker in parts...oops!

The mage light flickered overhead as the group slunk through the sewers, the miasma of waste, rot, and earthy sludge nearly overwhelming. There was a squelch and Anders stopped moving to pick up his foot, frowning down at his boot. “Remind me, again, why we are doing this?”

“For the glory of the almighty sovereign,” Hawke said cheerily, striding through the fetid water as if they were out for a stroll in Hightown. “That and because rumor has it there’s a blood mage living down here.”

“Hawke,” Varric’s voice was especially crabby, “There’s always a rumor of a blood mage living down here.”

“Well, yes.” Hawke stopped long enough to glance back. “But I mean, what if this rumor is true?”

The entire group sighed at that and returned to slogging through the sewer. Quiet resettled, broken only by the slosh of feet in water and the occasional cough as the smell grew stronger. Finally, after a few turns, they reached an exit.

“Alrighty, this should be it,” Hawke said in a whisper. “I’ll go first and then Fenris, then Varric and Anders. Got it?”

“We got it Hawke, we do this all the time,” Anders groused.

“Just checking!” The warrior looked hurt. “Wouldn’t want you to be hit.”

Anders hissed a sigh, the sigh turning to a grumble as Fenris shoved past him.

“Ready?” There was excitement in the word. A breathless moment and then Hawke was surging up the small ladder and through a grate in the floor. The group followed, all prepared to enact violence upon a supposed blood mage and found themselves...in the Black Emporium?

“That is not how one normally finds oneself here,” The skeletal figure intoned from his perch. “Urchin, please close and padlock the grate.”

There was a flurry of motion as a small child rushed to perform the commanded task. The group watched, dripping muck on the floor of the emporium, as a large runed padlock was slapped on the now closed grate. Hawke cleared his throat and turned to face the figure, “Ah, Xenon. Sorry. I guess my sources were wrong.”

“You are after the supposed blood mage in the sewers again?” Xenon’s voice held a hint of reproach. “He is West of my location.”

“Oh…” Hawke glanced around. “Ah...well, sewers. Turned around. You know how it is, yes?”

Anders shared a look with Varric and went to go peruse the latest croppings of potions being sold. Usually it was a wash where potions were concerned - mainly healing or enhancements that he could make himself. But on occasion there was one or two that he hadn’t seen before and it was always worth checking them out.

Hawke was still apologizing, offering to send help to clean up the muck while Xenon ignored him and Urchin started mopping. Fenris sidled up next to Anders, looked down at the vials, and then back to him, “What are you doing, mage?”

“Shopping? Might as well while we’re here.” Anders rolled his eyes a bit and picked up a vial filled with a softly glowing blue liquid. Tilting the vial, he watched the liquid roll, purple swirling through it. “Huh...hey Xenon, what’s this?”

There was a sigh from the skeletal figure, “I am unsure. Either a potion of truth or a potion of magical enhancement.” The figure wheezed a bit. “The alchemist has a problem with labeling.”

“I would not purchase that vial,” Fenris said before moving away.

“I would not purchase that vial,” Anders huffed under his breath in a high-pitched voice. “How much, Xenon?”

Fenris’ scoffing could be heard under the wheezed “Normally five sovereigns but I will take ten minutes with your companion.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow, “You have a companion, Anders?”

“He means Justice, Hawke.” Anders grumbled and seemed to have a long, internal discussion with himself and involved copious amounts of frowning. Finally, Anders turned vivid blue eyes to Xenon, “We will talk.”

Hawke sighed, glanced at Varric and Fenris, and nodded to the door. “Well, they’ll be busy for a while. How about a brew?”

“Hawke...we’re covered in sewage,” Fenris was shaking his barefeet, Urchin chasing after him with a cloth.

“Right. Baths and then a brew?” Hawke tried a for a smile.

A growl was followed by a back slap by Varric, “Broody’s in if you’re buying.”

“Deal. To my place! I have soap!” Hawke gave Anders...or Justice...a wave and then led his companions out the door. Justice paid them no mind, too busy discussing the perils of the Fade with the skeletal figure, a vial of bluish-purple liquid clasped in one hand.

***

Sometime between procuring vials of unknown substances and now, Anders’ day became filled with injured. He couldn’t, quite, put his finger on when the line of patients had gone from a few coughing children to a line of snotty, feverish, hacking sick - but it had happened and he had been standing for hours passing out feverfew, healing potions, poultices, and healing spells. Just as soon as one wave would die down, another would swell up. The clinic was finally winding down and if he was lucky, it would stay wound down.

He currently had a middle-aged woman clutching her chest as she wheezed. Anders placed his hands on her chest and called up another healing spell, easing the inflammation and slowly pulling the accumulating fluid from his patient’s lungs. The woman rolled to her side, gave a choking cough, and promptly vomited on his boots. A sharp inhale and she gasped out a thank you.

Anders nodded and offered a wan smile even as he rifled in his pouch for another lyrium potion. There were still a few people left to see and he was running on fumes, his mana nearly empty. Fingers closed around a vial and without looking, he thumbed off the stopper and chugged it while trying to shake the vomit off his boot.

It wasn’t until the taste hit him that he realized that was not a lyrium potion he had just swallowed. Instead of a sharp, cold bite there was a thick, sweet berry flavor coating his tongue and something was making his lips go numb. Holding out the vial, Anders saw a smear of bluish purple and groaned.

“Anders? Hey Anders! Are you alright? Hey!” Marta, his assistant, snapped her fingers at him. “Hey...we have three more people but none look too bad. You alright?”

“I’m tired, my feet hurt, and I have vomit on my boots. Plus, I just drank an unmarked potion,” Anders said, frowning as the words left his lips.

“Do you want to see the patients?” Marta asked, expecting to have to nag him into resting.

“No, I want to sit down and have a moment.” The words left Anders’ lips and he frowned again. He opened his mouth to try again. “I haven’t slept in three nights.” He clapped his hands over his mouth.

“Anders! That’s it, we’re closing up. I’m so glad you’re finally telling me when you’re tired.” Marta grabbed some poultices and took them to the patients.

“I really am too tired and I’m not sorry in the slightest!” Anders yelled after her, groaning.

Another glance at the vial and he stomped to his small chest of books. A few moments of rifling and he found the one he was looking for, an older edition of The Art of the Pestle - an outlawed Tevinter tome Hawke had found for him, and settled down to do some research. His fingers tabbed through the book, looking for anything having to do with a truth potion.

Ten minutes later and he was slamming his head into the desk.

**_Potion of Truth:_ **  
**_Spell type: Compulsion_ **  
_Use: Will compel the taker to tell the truth._  
_Dosage: A sip for an hour. A vial for a week._  
_Warning: Potency particularly strong. Do not store near heat. Do not imbibe with alcohol. May cause minor feelings of giddiness and some numbing around the mouth._

Anders glanced over at the empty vial, touched his still slightly-numb lips, and let out a sob.

***

The first day on the potion of truth was spent healing and trying to not talk to anybody about anything more than healing. Truth was good when talking to a patient, though telling a mother their child might die could be construed as a little harsh. Still, it was better to be honest and so Anders felt comfortable explaining why potions were needed and why it was bad to step onto the pointy part of a knife...and why soap could, indeed, prevent the Darktown Plague.

He was left, blissfully, alone by his friends and healed until he was wobbling on his feet, truthfully told his helpers he needed to sleep, and then went and slept because Justice said lying was wrong.

He got two hours of sleep, woke up from a nightmare, and went to write on his manifesto.

Which was where Hawke found him the next day - sprawled over his table with ink on his cheek.

“Anders! Egads, man. You have ink on your face. It...kinda...looks like a dragon. I say you leave it!” Hawke slapped Anders’ on the back, which woke him up.

“Hawke?” Anders’ eyes grew big. “What are you doing here?”

“I have a job! Want to come with?” Hawke grinned, waiting for the yes that always came.

“No.” Anders said wearily.

“No? Why not?” Hawke was blinking in shock.

“I slept two hours, wrote about mage freedom till my eyeballs were sticky, and then fell asleep on my inkwell,” Anders explained, his mouth moving more on its own than because he wanted it to.

“Well...if you help I’ll let you use my bath. So there! All settled,” Hawke went back to grinning. “And I’ll buy you a hot breakfast. Sound good? Good!” He didn’t let Anders answer.

Which was for the best as the mage was trying to shove his foot into his mouth before explaining why it wasn’t a good idea.

Ten minutes later and they were headed to the Wounded Coast...to track down a blood mage...in a cavern. Anders was shoving a hot roll in his mouth in the great hopes that nobody would talk to him.

“You ok there, Blondie?” Varric asked, eyebrow cocked. “You look a bit peaked.”

“No,” Anders got out, biting down on the roll to keep from talking.

“No?” Fenris glanced at the mage. “Did you drink that potion you purchased.”

Anders clenched his lips together, trying to swallow back a response. The group stopped, all staring at the rapidly reddening mage. “Yes!” the word exploded from him and he bent over, gasping for air.

“Maker, you alright?” Hawke rushed to rub his back.

“No!” Anders figured if he could stick to yes or no answers, he’d be fine.

“What did that fool potion do, then?” Fenris leaned against a boulder and raised his eyebrow.

Anders whimpered as the words spilled from him. “Truth potion.”

More silent staring and then a snort from Fenris. The snort turned into a laugh and the elf was left clinging to the boulder as he guffawed.

“I’m so glad my predicament is amusing,” Anders said haughtily.

“So you must now tell the truth? When anybody asks you a question?” Fenris snorted again, eyes actually dancing with delight. “How wonderful. You are quite the fool, are you not?”

“Yes. To all of the questions.” Anders’ face was sour.

“Yes? Hmm...then, is Justice truly a demon?” Fenris raised his eyebrow.

“No,” Anders clenched his fist.

“Can’t be a very good potion if he’s lying,” Fenris observed.

“I’m not lying, I can’t lie. Justice is a spirit, not a demon,” Anders gritted out.

“Did you make a deal with you joined with him?” Fenris tried again.

“No. I joined with him to save him from death,” Anders sighed.

“Boring questions, Broody. How about...is there truth that you worked at the Blooming Rose?” Varric piped up, a big grin on his face.

Anders grimaced, “Yes.”

Hawke hooted and Fenris’ eyes grew round. “You worked at the Blooming Rose?”

“Still do, I heal the prostitutes. Next?” Anders sighed, hoping they could get this out of their system.

“Do you know how to shapeshift into a Dragon?” Hawke gave him a hopeful look. Anders’ quick “no” had his face falling.

“Why does your coat have feathers on it?” This from Fenris.

“Because I like feathers and they make me think of my cat, Pounce.” Anders scrunched up his face as he thought, yet again, about Pounce and how much he missed his cat.

“Heard rumor you know how to do something called the Spicy Shimmy…” Varric looked interested.

Anders grimaced again, “Yes.”

“What is it?” Varric looked beyond ecstatic.

“A dance, alright? It’s a dance.” Anders watched Hawke’s mouth open and quickly said, “No, I don’t want to show you.” Hawke’s face fell.

“Hey...you know. I’ve often wondered. You always say yes when Hawke asks you to help, why? I mean, you’re a busy healer.” Varric’s eyes were gleaming.

“Because he’s my friend. And I’m a fool.” Anders felt both answers were fairly obvious. Anybody who would voluntarily follow a man whose idea of fun was a sewer romp was a fool. The word rather encompassed all of them.

“Just a friend? So you aren’t carrying a secret crush for him?” Varric pressed.

“Not him, no,” Anders opened his mouth and closed it. That had been both the truth and more than he had wanted to share.

“Oho...but you do have a crush on somebody, huh?” Varric leaned forward. “Come on, Blondie. You know we’re all friends here.”

Anders eyes grew round, flicked over to Fenris’ and then back to Varric’s. He shook his head, obviously fighting back the answer. A brief moment of internal struggle and the “Yes!” burst from him.

“Ah-hah!” Varric crowed. Before the dwarf could ask more, Anders gave an angry huff, turned around, stomped off. “Hey! Where ya going?”

“Back to the clinic. I will not be the butt of your jokes today.” Anders yelled.

Hawke yelled after him, “We’re sorry!”

“I hate you all!” Anders yelled and took off at a run.

***

The next day was spent healing again. Anders kept an eye on the door and hoped none of his erstwhile companions would bother him. He was feeling lucky until evening fell and Hawke showed up...much like a bad copper...

“Anders!” Hawke gave a big grin.

“No,” Anders said immediately.

“I’m not accepting a no. You need to eat and it’s card night. We’re playing diamondback. Come on…” Hawke wheedled.

“No,” Anders said again, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I’ll buy you dinner…” Hawke wheedled.

Anders sighed. “You’re going to stand there till I say yes, aren’t you?”

Hawke gave a big grin. “I’ll not bother you tonight, I promise.”

A squinty look and Anders grabbed his staff. “Fine. But I want something other than stew.”

“Roast it is!” Hawke slapped Anders on the back and led him from the clinic.

Ten minutes late and they were in the Hanged Man, a plate of roast and potatoes in front of Anders, an ale in front of Hawke, and cards being passed out. The group seemed to be behaving: picking at each other and moaning over their hands. Anders watched them in between bites, slowly relaxing when it appeared nobody would pick on him.

He had just swallowed a bit of potato when Isabela leaned against his arm and hummed into his ear, “Heard you had a little accident, handsome.”

“Izzy, stop bothering Anders,” Hawke said while frowning at his cards.

“I’m not bothering you, am I?” Isabela cooed into his ear.

“You are bothering me,” Anders replied, for once glad he was telling the truth.

“Ooo...so it is true. You do have to tell the truth.” Isabela’s eyes gleamed. “Because usually you just make nice noises while moving away. Oh Sweet Thing, let’s talk.”

“Let’s not,” Anders shoved more potato into his face.

Aveline glanced up from the cards, “Leave the man be. Nobody here wants to hear his secrets.”

“I do,” Isabela responded with a laugh.

“Maker, can we not just play cards and not pick at one another? Andraste said…” Sebastian started, stopping when Isabela raised an eyebrow and started tugging down her tunic. “Er...I’ll just look at my cards then.”

“I can’t remember what this card means,” Merrill sighed heavily, leaning forward to show them to Sebastian. “Help?”

“Can you do the electricity trick still?” Isabela was bouncing in her seat.

“Yes,” Anders sighed. He reached out and slid one finger down Isabela’s neck, her eyes widened and a moan slipping from her lips. The entire table adjusted themselves and sighed.

“Where did you learn that?” Fenris asked, eyebrow raised.

Anders reddened, “The Pearl.”

“The Pearl?” The eyebrow disappeared up near Fenris’ hairline. “Which is a…”

“Brothel,” Anders’ face was bright red. “I learned it at brothel while I was on the run.”

“So you did work at a brothel.” Fenris was eyeing Anders with speculation. “As just a healer?”

Isabela laughed, “Mm...healer and more. He was very well liked.”

“Thanks,” Anders grumbled. “Not that it matters now.”

“Oh sweet thing. I think you’re gorgeous. You know...my door is always open,” Isabela crooned.

Hawke sighed, “I promised Anders we wouldn’t pry. Leave him be and let’s play cards. Merrill, sweetie, come sit next to me. I’ll help you.” Isabela rolled her eyes while Merrill moved to press against Hawke, pointing at her cards with confusion. The rest of the table settled and Anders, slowly, relaxed.

About the time he had decided the group would behave, Varric cleared his throat. “You know, you never did answer my question out on the coast.” Varric piped up. “Sorry Blondie, can’t resist.”

“You could try,” Anders said around the potato. “But you won’t, because nobody here respects me.”

“Not true,” Hawke said. “I do.”

Aveline snorted softly and arranged her hand. “We all carry a certain amount of respect for you, Anders.”

“You do the Maker’s work helping the refugees,” piped up Sebastian.

“You are a fool mage and are correct in your assumptions,” Fenris grumbled.

“What are we talking about?” Merrill asked, eyes wide. “I was trying to remember what the cards meant and wasn’t listening.”

“Anders said he had a crush.” Varric hummed softly. “What? I didn’t ask!”

“You do? Oh! that’s so sweet. Who is it? Do we know them?” Merrill asked, eyes wide.

Anders vibrated, clamping his lips together. The eyes of everybody on the room settled on him and in a sudden panic he roughly pushed his chair back , grabbed his staff, shoved an entire potato in his mouth, and fled the room. The group sat there in stunned silence, sharing glances. Hawke moved to get up and Fenris shook his head, stood, and went after the mage. He heard “Was it something I asked?” from Merrill as he rushed out.

Anders gained the stairs, flew threw the door of the Hanged Man, skidded on the cobbles and ran for the stairs. About the time he hit them, the potato had been swallowed and a name burst from his lips, the name followed by a string a cursing as Anders clattered down the stairs and made for the entrance to Darktown.

He didn’t see the elf standing the shadows at the top the stairs - the elf that blinked in surprise, turned, and slowly made his way back to the Hanged Man.

***

The next day, Anders didn’t open the clinic. The lantern stayed unlit and when his assistants came by, he handed them a piece of paper that simply read “sick.”

He couldn’t speak a lie but he could write one.

He stayed in his cubby, curled on his bed, staring at nothing. If he was lucky, Hawke would see the lantern out and leave him be. Another three days and the potion would wear off and he’d be safe to be around people again. Safe to hide behind his jokes and quips. But until then, he would hide here and not talk to anybody.

Which was, frankly, not how he wanted to spend three days. Self-imposed solitary was still solitary and he could already feel the walls starting to close in. Despite the high windows, despite the fact that he had a key to the locks, he felt alone and closed off - adrift.

His sniffle was swallowed up by the sound of the door creaking open. Anders rubbed his face on his pillow, silently cursing the lock and its inability to actually stay locked. He stayed quiet, hoping that whomever was there would assume him gone and leave. And when no footsteps sounded in the main room, he relaxed, exhaling.

And then yelped when Fenris walked through the curtain-covered doorway.

Mage and elf stared at each other, eyes wide, and then Anders collapsed on the bed. “You scared me.”

“I apologize. I assume it is because of my lack of footwear.” Fenris cocked his head. “Your clinic is closed, why?”

“Damn you, because I can’t stop telling the truth,” Anders bit off. “Here to torture me more?”

“No. Though perhaps this is an opportunity to find out why you persist in your fool notion of mage freedom,” Fenris said, settling on the floor.

“Leave,” Anders sighed. “Please.”

“Why do you think mages should be free?” Fenris asked, his head tilted.

“Because we are locked up for being born. Because the Chantry teaches we are a sin in the eyes of the Maker. Because taking children from their parents is wrong...locking them up is wrong...keeping them away from others simply for being mages is wrong.” The words spilled from Anders.

“But your towers are a luxury. And your templars keep you safe.” Fenris said. “You are not slaves, you do not lack freedom. What abuses has the chantry foisted upon you think your life is so hard?”

“Abuses? You want to see abuses?” Anders threw back the covers and sat up, pulling off his tunic and throwing it at the elf. “Do people who live in luxury carry scars like this?” Anders stood and turned, letting Fenris see the long line of marks marching down his back.

“Is rape considered an abuse? Whipings? Meals denied, sleep denied,” Anders turned back around spitting the words. “Mages made tranquil and forced to hawk the Chantry’s wares...”

“Do you speak from experience? What happened?” Fenris was pale.

“Yes,” The word was torn from Anders and he sank to the floor. “I would escape and they would beat me. Again and again and again until finally they put me in solitary for a year. The only touch was from from templars who wanted to see how far they could push the mage kept in the dark. Who wanted to see if I would turn abomination to get away from them.”

Anders stared at his hands, panting. “You ask why mages should be free? I just wanted my mother, Fenris. I was twelve and I wanted my mother. And they dragged me from her and locked me away, stole my name from me, and when I tried to see the sky they whipped me till my back was bloody and then didn’t let the healers heal me so I would remember. So I would remember that mages do not see the sky, we do not walk on the grass, we don’t have parents or siblings or family...we’re a sin that should be locked away. A weapon to be used when necessary.” The words ended in a sob and Anders folded himself up, turning away from Fenris.

Who sat still, so still and pale and silent, eyes wide on Anders. A part of him snarled that the mage was lying but the potion...would make that impossible. Which meant it was the truth. All of it. The scars on Anders’ back, the way his hands shook, the look of wild desperation in his eyes - all truth. These things...these memories that Anders had shared...they spoke more of the slaves in Tevinter than the mages.

And for the first time, Fenris felt shame burn in him. How often had Anders tried to talk to him of this and he snarled? How often had he offered an ear, offered healing, offered aid...and Fenris pushed him away and called him magister? Fenris remembered their first meeting, Anders making a joke and Fenris snarling hatefully at him - ready to dislike the man for being a mage without ever stopping to get to know him.

“Mage...Anders…” Fenris started, stopping when Anders rounded his shoulders. “I...I will leave you.”

Anders pressed his face into the side of his bed and closed his eyes, listened to the shuffle of feet as Fenris left. He was worn to the bone, but Justice fueled him and he pulled himself up, dragged himself to his table, and began to write, again, about the plight of mages.

***

Day five started like any other day. Anders was passed out over his table again, another ink stain marring his skin - this time his neck. The door to the clinic opened, soft voices exchanged words, and then the door closed. Anders’ eyes fluttered open at the sound and landed on Fenris holding a sack and looking contrite. Licking dry lips, Anders sat up and blinked at the elf.

“Back to torture me some more?” His voice was raspy and dry.

“No...I, no, mage. Anders,” Fenris clenched the sack in his hands and then started forward. “I came to apologize.”

Anders squinted at Fenris and then calmly pulled a knife from his belt and pricked his finger. Fenris watched in horror as blood welled up and Anders poked at the sore spot. Blinking in surprise, he healed his finger and then turned wide eyes on Fenris.

“Why did you do that?” Fenris had finally gathered his thoughts and rushed forward, pulling the knife from Anders.

“I thought I was still dreaming. You’re apologizing,” Anders explained. He leaned back a bit, wiping a hand over his mouth. “Why?”

“I never wanted to hear your words,” Fenris said slowly. “My hate, my rage...what you said, it did not fit what I knew of mages.” He held out his arms, the lyrium brands vivid white against his dark skin. “What has magic done for me other than bring me pain?”

Anders frowned, reached out, and then pulled his hand back. Fenris tilted his head and then slowly put his hand on the table. A glance up and Anders gently brushed his fingers over the lyrium lines.

Fenris’ inhale was quiet, a soft sound of surprise. “It...they usually hurt.”

“I imagine blood magic would,” Anders said quietly. His hand glowed with a gentle light and Fenris relaxed. “Healing magic should never hurt. I mean, what it heals hurts as it heals but the magic...it should soothe.”

“I...I did not realize…” Fenris flexed his fingers. “Another thing I was wrong about. I have been wrong about so much.”

“You had cause. I never said you didn’t. I just...you hated me from the moment you met me. You never got to know me, never gave me a chance. Just...called me mage and abomination,” Anders let the spell go. “It hurt. To know that nothing ever changes. That my magic, once again, was defining me.”

“Truth?” Fenris asked.

“I can’t lie right now.” The words were bitter.

“And yet you…” Fenris started, watching a dull flush form on Anders’ cheeks.

“Well, nobody ever said I was wise,” Anders joked. “Seriously. Nobody. I’ve always been called foolish. And what could be more foolish than being attracted to the elf who hates mages?”

Fenris pondered that, “Pining after the Knight Commander?”

“Oh well, if you were trying to put me off my breakfast…” Anders laughed, his laugh turning to a shy smile. “You made a joke.”

“I have been known to, on occasion,” Fenris deadpanned, making Anders grin. “Mage...I apologize and would like to...to spend some time getting to know you. Would you be amenable to that?”

“Are you going to bring me food?” Anders peeked into the bag, pulling out a still-warm bun.

“I am. What better time to get to know you than with you still on a truth potion?” Fenris pulled up a crate and sat down, offering a half-smile.

“Devious,” Anders said in between bites. “Very devious. So...what do you want to know?”

***

For the next two days, Fenris sat with Anders and they talked. They shared their thoughts, they argued about their ideals, and they came to understand that perhaps, somewhere between the two of them lay a common ground. More common ground than either had thought possible.

Anders discovered that Fenris had a wicked sense of humor. Fenris uncovered Anders’ seemingly unending collection of bad jokes...and his staunch love of cats. Somewhere near the end of day two, sitting next to each other on Anders’ bed, Fenris looked at the him and shyly said, “You know, I often thought that if you would just shut up, you’d be attractive.”

Anders had pursed his lips at that and then burst out laughing. “Well, I guess you’ll never find me attractive because I can never seem to shut up.”

“You are wrong, mage,” Fenris gave a small smile. “I like it when you talk.”

Anders blinked at Fenris, flushed, and ducked his head...for once, at a loss for words.

On day eight, Anders reopened the clinic. Fenris came by, as he had the last two days, and brought breakfast - staying to watch Anders heal. And nag him into eating lunch - much to Marta’s great amusement.

As the day started to wheel towards evening, Fenris found himself siding with Marta about closing the clinic. They were in mid-wheedle - Fenris starting to edge into demanding - when Hawke showed up.

“Hey...Fenris! Hey! I wondered where you’d been for two days,” Hawke greeted him with his customary backslap. “You been down here? With Anders?”

“I was making sure he was well.” Fenris stepped away lest he get slapped on the back again.

“So...Anders...I’m sorry…” Hawke looked contrite. “I told them to lay off but…”

“It’s alright,” Anders said, a wry smile on his lips.

“Must have worn off, huh,” Hawke grinned.

“Finally. Made my tongue go numb for two hours,” Anders groused. When Fenris chuckled, he gave the elf a shove. “It wasn’t funny.”

“You trying to talk with a numb tongue was funny.” Fenris gave Anders a smile, much to Hawke’s amazement.

“Well...I...just wanted to check on you. Um. Coming to the Hanged Man later? Please?” Hawke turned puppy eyes on Anders.

“I will escort him there, Hawke,” Fenris assured his friend.

“Oh well...good. Yes. Good.” Eyes filled with confusion and a tiny bit of joy, Hawke turned and left. “See ya later then!”

Fenris looked down at his feet, shuffling slightly. “So...ah...Anders…”

“Yes?” Anders raised an eyebrow, watching as Fenris drifted to him. “What?”

“I, ah, do not wish to end our talks. I have enjoyed them and would like to continue.” Fenris moved a hair closer.

“Oh?” Anders grinned as one arm shot out to wrap around his waist. “Just talk?”

“You said you found me attractive and had a crush...” Fenris pointed out, pulling Anders to him. “It would be remiss of me to not see if perhaps I could return those feelings.”

“Oh well…” Anders got out before Fenris’ lips were brushing over his. Throwing caution to the wind, Anders slid his fingers into soft, white hair and pressed himself tightly against the elf, kissing him back enthusiastically.

When they parted, Anders was beaming and Fenris was licking his lips. “So…” Fenris started, tilting his head. “We don’t have to be at the Hanged Man for a while. Want to continue to get to know each other?”

Anders waggled his eyebrows and went to go close up the clinic. “You don’t even need a truth potion to get me to say yes to that.”

Fenris’ laugh filled the clinic as he dragged Anders to his back room. There was a short yelp, another husky laugh, and then soft murmurs and the sound of kissing.


End file.
